


a wandering sort of light

by lacquer



Category: SEVENTEEN (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Fluff and Angst, Found Family, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Lee Chan | Dino-centric, Referenced violence, background chansol - Freeform, referenced crime
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-18
Updated: 2020-09-18
Packaged: 2021-03-06 14:27:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,813
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26300410
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lacquer/pseuds/lacquer
Summary: Chan first meets Joshua and Junhui after his life has fallen apart. The winter of his freshman year of university, the world collapses beneath his feet.(Joshua, Junhui, and Chan through the years.)
Relationships: Hong Jisoo | Joshua & Lee Chan | Dino, Hong Jisoo | Joshua/Wen Jun Hui | Jun, Lee Chan | Dino & Wen Jun Hui | Jun
Comments: 14
Kudos: 97
Collections: K-Pop Ficmix 2020





	a wandering sort of light

**Author's Note:**

  * For [theangryblob](https://archiveofourown.org/users/theangryblob/gifts).
  * Inspired by [sun dance.](https://archiveofourown.org/works/13919832) by [lushwang (theangryblob)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/theangryblob/pseuds/lushwang). 
  * Inspired by [pacific stars and the winds that blow them to me.](https://archiveofourown.org/works/23709544) by [lushwang (theangryblob)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/theangryblob/pseuds/lushwang). 



> lushwang, thank you so much for the opportunity to remix your fic(s), I hope I did them justice
> 
> this is an alternate pov piece to both "sun dance." and "pacific stars and the winds that blow them to me.", and I would suggest reading them first for context (and because they're really gorgeous), though I did try to make this stand on its own
> 
> thank you to sig and to riley for reading this over for me in my time of crisis, love you both <3 <3 <3 thank you to the mods for putting this fest on!
> 
>  **Content warnings:** being kicked out of the house, homelessness, allusions to homophobia, worry over money/student debt, briefly referenced murder. these themes are not explored in depth, but feel free to reach out after reveals are up for clarifications

_Ocean. Ocean,  
get up. The most beautiful part of your body  
is where it’s headed._

-Ocean Vuong, "Someday I’ll Love Ocean Vuong"

Chan first meets Joshua and Junhui after his life has fallen apart. The winter of his freshman year of university, the world collapses beneath his feet.

It begins with his father’s voice on the phone. 

_Come home. We need to talk._

It ends with his father’s voice on the phone too. 

_Don’t come back._

Chan doesn’t need to have completed his degree in mechanical engineering to put that one together. All he has of his life is packed into a suitcase full of essentials, a backpack with a few hastily retrieved childhood memories, and a binder full of his Calc 201 notes. He had passed the class last quarter—top of his year, flying colors, and had been planning on studying for finals while he was home. So much for that.

He burns the notes on the side of i-405, watching equations go up in flames, just like the rest of his life. And then he calls his university and tells them he’s not registering for spring quarter.

His advisor tries to talk him out of it, tells him about programs and scholarships and ways to help him pay for university, but Chan can do the math just as well as she can. Better, even. There’s no end to this equation that doesn’t result in him buried in student debt up to his neck, unless he refuses to solve it at all. He hangs up on her mid-explanation, so angry his phone hits the sidewalk before he’s even aware of throwing it.

 _Fuck._ Chan thinks. And then out loud, “Fuck!”

It’s most definitely broken.

Winter wind slices over his shoulders, and Chan squares them. Looks up. He wants to sink his fingers into the skyline, and shake the world, scream until someone tells him why this is happening. He wants an explanation, but California gives him nothing but weak noon and highway traffic. 

The fire is dying out now, and Chan kicks it into dust. He doesn’t feel at all better, and he doesn’t know what to do. For the first time in his life, he is entirely alone.

His anger smolders out like the fire, leaving only fear behind. Chan swallows down ashes and hits the road.

  
  
  


Whoever said anything about the open road being welcoming was a liar, and not even a good one. Maybe they meant welcoming for people with enough money to open doors, which is certainly not Chan. 

His savings dry up somewhere in Bakersfield and he hitchhikes from there. He picks up spare jobs when he can. Money is tight and growing tighter, squeezing around his ribs. His parents didn’t give him much before, but this is different. He’s alone now. No one is going to bail him out if he misses a meal or can’t find enough money for a hotel.

His phone was unrepairable and he hasn’t checked his email since he left college. If his friends are wondering where he is, he doesn’t know about it. 

Chan’s hitchhiking skills eventually get him to Las Vegas, a city of neon edges and hungry eyes. People laugh here like they want to swallow down the world raw. He was half hoping to find someone to steal from here, but the streets are lined with security and for every careless purse there are another three sets of eyes.

Chan is not a good thief. 

He’s been wearing the same three sets of clothing for a month now, and his only accessories are a set of bruises up his back. Hunger eats through his stomach and turns his expressions ragged. He’s been trying to budget, but college never taught him how to balance a checkbook that’s always on the brink of falling apart.

That evening, he tries to find a cheap motel, counting his money again and again. No matter where he looks, it’s not enough.

“Please,” he asks the desk attendant, not even sure what he’s asking for, only that he can’t afford another night on the streets, and Vegas is poised to eat him alive.

“I’m sorry kid,” she says. She doesn’t sound sorry though, and her eyes are already sliding off him and towards the lobby. 

He fumbles the few bills he has on the counter and shakes out the contents of his pockets, producing a few coins. “Please, I just need a night and I can be out of your hair. I don’t—” his voice cracks. “I don’t have anywhere else to go.”

She looks like she’s about to refuse again, when someone walks up behind him and puts their hand on his shoulder. “Let me.” 

Chan whips around. Standing behind him is a tall asian man, dressed in clothes expensive enough to pay for another year of college. Beside him is another figure, diamond choker on their neck, silk dress slit up the thighs. They both look entirely out of place in this shitty motel, but the attendant seems to recognize them, judging by the look on her face. 

“Mr. Wen, are you sure…?” her voice rises, as if to say _look at him._

“He’s sure,” The second figure says, and at the sound of their voice, Chan does a double take. It’s a pleasant tenor, smooth on the edges, and not at all matching with his outfit. 

“Put it on my card,” says Wen, waving a hand. 

It’s all arranged quick enough that Chan’s head spins. He’s ushered into a room of his own, paid for for a night. 

“Why are you doing this?” he asks the one the attendant had addressed as Mr. Wen. “Who are you?”

“I’m Junhui Wen and this is Joshua Hong.” Junhui gives him an assessing look. “We’re doing this because we’ve been in that situation before. We know what it’s like.”

“What do you want from me? You don’t even know my situation,” Chan bites back. He’s reaching, trying to figure them out. Both of them look like they eat and breathe money, but they’re staying in a run down motel at the edge of Vegas. 

It’s these words that make Junhui look at him. There’s something just a little sad in his expression. It’s Joshua who answers, though. “Does there need to be a reason? Isn’t it enough that we wanted to help you?”

In the months Chan has spent on the road, he’s learned a few things. One of which is there’s no such thing as a free lunch. He shakes his head. “People always want something. I’m not stupid enough to think you’re any different.”

Junhui and Joshua share a look that Chan can’t read. It’s heavy with understanding, as if the twitch of Joshua’s eyebrows convey whole paragraphs to Junhui. They turn back to him, some unknown conclusion reached. 

“Let us try and prove it to you then. Stay here, just for tonight?” Joshua asks. Chan doesn’t have anywhere to go if he refuses, but he holds on tight to the illusion of choice. “You can ask more questions tomorrow.”

“Ok,” Chan says. And then again, softer, “Ok.” It feels a little like defeat.

He sleeps fitfully that night, waking half sure that the motel room is a dream. It never is though, and by the time the sun rises again, Chan is strung out and anxious. 

The two of them take him to a diner the next morning, and pay for his food. Chan shoots them nervous glances in between downing a plate of pancakes. When they don’t make any objections, he tentatively orders another, this time with strawberries. The pancakes are fluffy, butter melting on his tongue, strawberries sweet and dipped in powdered sugar.

It’s the best meal he’s had in a month, and he tries not to eat too quickly, but it’s _hard._ All the while, Joshua and Junhui make idle chit chat, talking over what they’re going to do in Vegas. Apparently Junhui is killer at the card tables.

Chan finally slows down when he finishes his second plate, watching as Joshua stirs his coffee slowly. “So why are you doing this?” he asks, interrupting their conversation. It’s rude, he knows, but he feels like pushing. Discomfited people are more honest.

The two of them exchange another inscrutable glance, and Junhui spreads his hands on the table. There’s a genuine tilt to his mouth that makes Chan lean in. (Later, Chan will learn that Junhui always looks genuine, most especially when he’s conning someone out of their life savings. That’s later though.) “I told you last night. Joshua and I have been where you are before. It’s hard, right?” Chan nods, despite himself. “Let us give you a hand.”

By all rights, Chan shouldn’t trust them. (And he doesn’t, not really.) But there’s something about Junhui’s eyes, about Joshua’s hands, that makes him waver.

“What if I said yes, what then?”

Junhui hums. “Where would you want to go?”

 _Not California._ It’s nearly out of Chan’s mouth before he has a chance to pull the words back. Joshua must see some of it, because he leans forward, teases the story from Chan’s lips. Not all of it, not the reasons for it, but Chan tells him the rest. How he dropped out of university; how he’s not sure where he’s going. 

When he’s done, Joshua sits back. Chan taps his fork, wondering if it’s worth asking for another plate of food.

Junhui picks up the thread of conversation where Joshua left off. Chan’s noticed that about the two of them—they operate like a unit, can read each other at a glance, always know what to do. He’s intimated. He’s jealous. 

“We’d help you get back on your feet. Stay with you until you find a job or something.” 

Chan considers it. 

“Come with us,” Joshua says.

“I’m not going home,” Chan tells them, bitter and quick. “You can’t make me.” _They won’t take me back, anyway._

Joshua reaches out across the sticky diner table and takes his hand. “We won’t make you, we promise.”

Chan looks into his eyes. He takes a deep breath. He says yes.

  
  
  


Somewhere in the desert on the way back to California, Junhui at the wheel, Chan falls asleep. 

They had left Las Vegas that evening in a car Joshua had purchased four hours ago. Chan’s not sure where he got it from, but the paint is peeling and the engine chokes when going faster than 70 miles per hour. Some of Joshua’s jewelry has disappeared overnight. Chan can connect the dots. 

“I meant it,” Joshua had told him before they got into the car. “We’re going to get you back on your feet.”

Chan had put his suitcase in the trunk and not said a word.

When he falls asleep, it’s to the gentle cadence of Joshua’s words, as he slowly talks through some story or another. He can taste strawberry syrup and car exhaust. Chan closes his eyes and dreams.

  
  
  


The first time he cries where Junhui can see it, the older man pulls him close and sings a lullaby into the top of his head. In his arms, the world seems simple, less like Lambda calculus and more like addition and subtraction. Chan was alone. With Joshua and Junhui he is not.

  
  
  


It’s somewhere in SoCal, a month on the road together, where Chan finally realizes what the two of them are. The evidence slots together like solving a multivariable equation. Or maybe like accounting. It’s not hard to put together when he knows where to look. 

“You’re thieves, aren’t you,” he asks Junhui. 

“Depends on what you mean by that,” Junhui says cheerfully. He doesn’t deny it though, which surprises Chan, even if he isn’t in a place to judge.

The month they’ve spent together has been a whirlwind. Chan had thought he knew California, but Joshua and Junhui know how to play her until she sings. He’s not sure, but he thinks they tone it down for his sake. Joshua and Junhui together are wildfire—hot enough to blaze out of control if they’re not careful. He’s seen the edges of it, the way that Joshua’s grin will go wild and sharp and hungry before he looks at Chan and pulls it back again.

“I mean…” Chan pauses. Reconsiders his next words. “I mean that you steal from people a lot.”

Junhui laughs inelegantly. He’s sprawled out on a cheap motel bed, just another in a string of them this month. They’re headed towards NorCal to find a place to stay for the summer. “Yeah, we do,” he says. “Does that bother you?” 

Chan thinks it over slowly. “I don’t know. I think it should.” Joshua and Junhui leave the door wide open if he ever decided to leave, but he doesn’t. He’s not sure what he would do if he was by himself again, nothing but the streets and fear punching holes through his throat. At least with them, he isn’t alone.

Junhui shrugs. “Are you scared of us?”

“No,” Chan says, the word practically leaping to his lips. He pauses, and tries to think about that instinctive reaction. “No, I don’t think so.” He’s cried in Junhui’s arms too many times now, for fear to still hold him.

“Good. I’m glad.” When Chan looks at him again, Junhui’s face has gone tender at the edges. “Get your shoes, let’s go out. I’m going to teach you how to pick pockets.”

  
  
  


It’s mid-July of that summer that Joshua and Junhui sit him down for a Talk, capital letters and all. They’re sitting in a small diner, Berkeley crowds chattering outside. Beyond the window is the small two star hotel they’re staying at for the summer, drenched in the summer sun. 

In a strange reflection of where they were when they first met, Chan is eating pancakes. The two men sitting across from him have blueberries in theirs. Junhui had wrinkled his nose at the tea they offered and is drinking a coffee with four sugars and enough cream to make it go tan. It’s been a slow meal, nearly luxurious. Chan eats carefully nowadays, that old hunger still gnawing at his belly, but it’s distant.

“You need to go back to college,” Joshua says. It’s not a question.

Chan opens his mouth to say something— _the loans, the paperwork, what would I even say—_ that the other two have heard before, but Joshua waves his butter knife at him before he can speak. In his hands the silverware seems deadly, more kukri than utensil. Chan shuts his mouth.

“You’re too smart to be traveling around with us Chan,” Joshua continues. “I’ve seen the books you read when you think we aren’t looking. I don’t have a degree, but I know they open doors. Doors that you should be walking through. You could do something with your life, something special.” 

That last bit, _you could be doing something with your life,_ could have come straight from his parents’ mouths. Chan flinches back, and Joshua pauses. He cuts into his pancakes and takes a bite, stopping to chew before continuing on.

“This isn’t about making you do anything. This is about you. You’re an amazing kid Chan, your life shouldn’t be over at nineteen.”

Junhui picks up when Joshua pauses. “And don’t worry about the money. We’ll pay for you. Fuck, we’ll set up a bank account right now if you want, but you’re going to university.”

Chan nearly cries. Joshua nods at Junhui’s words, and everything pulls tight in Chan’s heart. He _is_ crying—11:45am in a run down Berkeley diner, big fat tears dripping into his pancakes. He hopes the other customers aren’t staring at him.

Junhui gets up from next to Joshua and sits down to hug him. Chan chokes on the emotion swelling in his chest, rising up like flowers after a storm.

  
  
  


Chan’s advisor stutters when he calls her again. Her voice is bright when she explains how to enroll in fall classes, words tumbling over themselves. Luckily he hadn’t withdrawn from the university entirely before hitting the road, and he’ll have no problems with admission. 

“You’ll be set back a quarter, but that isn’t a big deal,” his advisor says firmly, like she’s trying to prove a point. “Come back to the student center when you’re on campus and I can walk you through a new graduation plan.”

“Ok,” Chan says. He feels dizzy. The conversation is happening at arm's length.

When he finally hangs up, it’s to turn back to Junhui with wide eyes. “I’m enrolled.”

“Good,” Junhui says, and smiles.

Joshua walks over from the other corner of the room. “Let’s go school shopping. I’ll pay.” He grins, and it’s warm. It’s unexpected too; Chan’s parents never looked anything but stern when they discussed his schooling. “You’re going to need new clothes before you go back to college, after all.”

  
  
  


During the third stop of their little shopping expedition, Chan gathers the courage to ask Joshua, “Why are you doing this? I never did anything for you.”

Joshua holds up a juicer. “What do you think? Will you need one of these? It has six settings for kale.” The mental dissonance is so strong that Chan blinks. This was the kind of thing his parents loved—useless appliances that sat around the house gathering dust, only polished when they had company over. Seeing it in Joshua’s hands is strangely discomfiting. 

Chan shakes his head. “Probably not.” He waits for him to answer the question. Joshua and Junhui are like this sometimes, will dance in and out of a conversation before saying what they really mean. 

Sure enough, as soon as Joshua sets the juicer down, he responds to Chan's question. “We wanted to, didn’t we say that?” A pause. “Sending you to school… it’s putting a little good in the world. And you deserve it. That’s more than enough.”

Chan looks around the aisles of kitchen appliances and taps his fingers. The conversation drops there, but he spends the rest of the day thinking about it. 

Him, someone else’s good in the world.

  
  
  


August comes down on them like a burning hammer. Forest fires scorch California’s borders and keep the horizons hazy with smoke. Two weeks before Chan is due to move into the dorms, Joshua comes back to their latest hotel with cold eyes and steady hands. 

Chan doesn’t have to talk to him to know something happened. Junhui ushers him into their room before Chan has a chance to speak, and shuts the door.

Later, Chan will hear about bodies in dark alleys and muggings gone wrong and why Joshua needs to lay low in Utah for a while. That’s later though. In this moment, all Chan can think of is of the ice, where Joshua should be. 

It is the first time he thinks of one of them as a killer. He never forgets.

Later, Joshua will take him behind the hotel and show him six ways to disable an assailant, and three more to stop them permanently. Chan doesn't forget that, either.

  
  
  


Junhui helps him move back in to the dorms, furniture bought from second-hand stores. Chan breathes easier with him there, but he can see how much he chafes, without Joshua by his side. When they set the last box down, Chan doesn't ask him to stay.

Before he goes, Junhui hugs him tight, as if he could banish all of Chan’s fears at once. It lingers, like Junhui is trying to leave a little of himself with Chan forever. He steps back slowly, looking Chan in the eyes. Chan tries not to cry. 

"Learn a lot," Junhui says, and wipes a tear off his cheek.

"I'll make you proud," Chan says. 

When Junhui walks out of the door, he doesn’t look back.

  
  
  


Chan goes another year before he sees them again. It's no time at all and yet it's an eternity. 

Sophomore year has him running head first into studies and a tutoring job and a slowly blossoming _something_ with his kind-eyed roommate. 

Two weeks into the new quarter, Chan picks up his determination in two fists, says _fuck you_ to his parents, and applies for a dance minor. Freedom is heady. Gratitude, heavy.

He thinks about the two of them sometimes, when the lights are low and his eyes ache from studying, and Hansol isn’t there to lighten the mood. The two men who had swept into his life like a hurricane and turned it all around. Gratitude alchemizes into determination—he passes all of his classes, top of his year. Chan knows how not to waste an opportunity.

Sophomore year also makes him brave in new ways. Compared to his spring and summer, what is trying out for the soccer team? He makes second string. Chan walks how Joshua and Junhui taught him to, looks people in the eye when talking, and starts bending senior boys in half in his spare time.

Sometimes people try to ask him what happened, why he disappeared in the middle of winter quarter, and Chan brushes them off. It’s not something he wants to talk about. His friends learn to leave it alone. Those who don’t, aren’t.

When Joshua and Junhui show up again, it’s to take care of his tuition and ruffle his hair. 

“How has college been treating you?” Junhui asks him, looking around the dorm room. It barely resembles the room he had helped put together—a year of living has rearranged nearly everything. Strangely, Junhui looks pleased at this.

“Good,” Chan says. He wants to present the best parts of himself, show them he’s making the most of their opportunity. He doesn’t want to talk about the nights he sits alone in the dark, waiting for it all to fall in.

Joshua narrows his eyes a little, and smiles. “I knew you could do it. Are you making any friends?”

“Anyone more than friends?” Junhui adds on, eyebrows raised suggestively. Joshua laughs and shoves his shoulder. Despite himself, Chan feels a flush work its way down his throat. It’s a question no one’s ever bothered asking him before, and he’s flustered. Delighted.

“No,” he stutters out, but it’s not convincing at all.

“Tell us all about it,” Joshua says, grinning. “Let’s get lunch.”

  
  
  


Chan takes them for lunch at the local hole in the wall udon place, and pays for all of them himself. The money is something he earned at the campus coffee shop. He can’t repay what they’ve given him, but the gesture is good. Settling. 

“How have you been?” Chan asks, turning their question back around when they have food in front of them.

Junhui waves a hand. “You know.” He smiles suddenly, sharp. “We’ve been good as always.”

Chan takes that to mean, _at the expense of everyone around us,_ and nods. “I’m glad you’re ok. It’s been a cold winter.”

Junhui nods, but his gaze is a little unfocused. Chan’s starting to get the feeling that it wasn’t just Joshua’s absence that made him leave so quickly last year. Something about college makes him uneasy. 

Joshua takes over the conversation, clearly seeing the same thing. “How have your classes been? Tell us about your new _friends_.” The emphasis on friends says _crush_ in all but name.

The noise Chan makes is undignified. “I’ve done well in all my classes,” he says. 

“And…?” Joshua prods.

“And that’s it,” Chan says. He had ordered a bowl of soup, and eats a spoonful as an excuse to stop talking.

Joshua lets him have that second, and just watches. Chan’s not sure if he means for the silence to be expectant, but that’s how it feels. Eventually, Chan breaks it. “I don’t have time for that, I’ve got to study.”

At this, Junhui’s eyes sharpen and he shakes off whatever he had been thinking about. “Is that really it?” His eyes are kind. “We wouldn’t care if you barely graduated, Chan. What’s important is you have the opportunity. You should have the opportunity to have this as well.”

It’s not entirely that. But Chan doesn’t know how to say that his parents wouldn’t have approved of who Chan wants. It’s two different things—kissing boys in dark corners, and kissing them on dates.

Joshua and Junhui aren’t his parents though, so all he says is, “I- Ok. I’ll remember that.”

“And remember,” Joshua says. “If he tries anything, I taught you what to do.”

  
  
  


The next time Hansol asks him to dinner Chan says yes, and relishes the look of surprise on his face.

  
  
  


The three of them never spend another summer together, not like that very first one. Joshua and Junhui are still there though, in the ways that matter. Any time Chan is worried, they somehow show up in the nick of time. A handful of visits across four years, but it’s enough. It’s more than enough. Chan doesn’t make wishes, but this—

The two of them are something near miraculous.

Hansol asks after he sees the two of them, the question easy and light, “Were those your brothers?”

Chan considers it for a second. He’s not sure what category the two of them fit into. Brothers isn’t quite right. Not friends, although that’s close. Definitely not parents. “No, they’re not my brothers. But they’re family.”

Hansol nods at him and slings an arm over his shoulder. “I’m glad you have someone looking out for you.”

“Me too,” Chan replies, closing his eyes for a second. He leans into Hansol's steady warmth. “Me too.” 

  
  
  


Chan sees them for the last time when he graduates. 

Spring wraps the campus in flowers and leaves Chan terrified in new ways. Graduation means knocking on new doors. It means letting go of what little security he’s managed to steal for himself, here among these buildings. He can swallow that terror though, at the thought of seeing Joshua and Junhui. 

He meets them outside his dorm, a week before the ceremony. They drive up in a car that nearly falls apart beneath their feet. 

“Chan!” he’s not sure which of them say his name, but Chan laughs, and sweeps them both up in a hug. 

After a few seconds, Joshua hits him on the shoulder. “You’re gonna kill me, shit— let go.”

Chan thinks his face might be permanently creased from smiling. He doesn’t stop though, not even when Joshua pinches his stomach. It’s a reminder. Chan can never grow too far from these two, who had seen him at his rawest, and still found something to love.

He takes them to a diner, history come full circle. Chan’s not the boy he was four years ago, shaking in the Vegas lights. He has a future now. He has a family.

As if to reinforce the memory, they all order pancakes.

Chan is nineteen and twenty-three at once, looking across the booth at Joshua and Junhui. Now, as then, Chan swallows down blueberries and gratitude. Eats his fill. 

He only has two invitations for graduation and he gives them to the two men across from him. Joshua takes them and smiles. “We wouldn’t miss it for the world.”

They spend a week together, bright and warm, a memory stitched of sunlight. It’s as if Chan blinks and he appears on the graduation stage, accepting his diploma. He barely thinks of his parents at all as he walks across the stage, not with Joshua and Junhui in the audience.

Chan sees them off after the ceremony, medals and tassels still looped around his neck. 

This is the last time. He can do the math. He doesn’t even need his new degree to see the way they’re looking at him. Joshua and Junhui have never been the type to stay in one place, moving where the wind takes them, living life on a burning edge. Chan knows what he is to them: A responsibility. Temporary.

And yet also, loved.

He wraps them in a tight hug, trying to imprint the heft of Joshua’s shoulders, the weight of Junhui’s arms, into him forever. He doesn’t ask them to stay. That’s not how the two of them work. That’s not how the three of them work. 

Gratitude isn’t a thing Chan can set down and forget. He will live like this forever, with unexpected kindness on the tip of his tongue, with joy running through his heart. 

When they pull apart, Junhui kisses him on both eyes, nearly smothering, but Chan relishes it. He’s a little colder when Junhui steps back. Joshua stands in his place and kisses his eyelids too, endlessly tender.

Then they’re gone, driving away.

Chan holds the image of them in his mind for a long time after they go.

Always going, never leaving. Chan turns around, and does the same.


End file.
